


The Knight

by HopeofDawn



Series: The Otto Trilogy [2]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-23
Updated: 2010-07-23
Packaged: 2017-10-10 18:25:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/102732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeofDawn/pseuds/HopeofDawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Otto gets recruited, gets the Tallgeese, and then gets into trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Knight

**Author's Note:**

> The Gundam Wing story from an OZ-centric POV, focused around Lt. Otto. This story starts a year before the series begins and continues through to Operation Daybreak in episode nine.
> 
> Since there are no details available on the OZ, the Specials, and how they function, I've sort of reinvented them, using a combination of historical and modern military protocol to keep the 'feel' of the Romefeller/OZ/Alliance structure. I've tried to keep actual series dialogue and events as canon as possible, but I have added a great deal of surrounding material and used more colloquial English than was used in the series. This is also a direct sequel to 'The Prince' and the second story in a planned trilogy--reading the previous story isn't absolutely necessary, but it does help!
> 
> Many thanks go to Masamune for being a wonderful beta-reader, and Silke for helping with Otto's German. You guys are great!

As promised, I ended up in Nairobi--and also as promised, so did Marquise.

It was an improvement over Tshabong, though not by much. Apparently the word had spread of my little Aries debacle, and a lingering air of suspicion and resentment hung around the work crews even as far as Nairobi. The fact that Marquise had somehow been involved in my reassignment didn't help, and I got rather tired of having conversations stop whenever I entered a room. As annoying as the whole situation was, though, it certainly wasn't anything new.

More surprising to me was the discovery that somewhere along the way I had stopped hating Marquise. Mind you, that didn't mean that I *liked* him. He may have saved my ass, but he was still an arrogant bastard with an ego two sizes too big for his uniform. If he was expecting to fawn all over him in gratitude, he could forget it. The less I saw of him, the better.

I don't do the bootlicking thing. Not for him. Not for anyone.

I was there for over four months, working on the prototypes for OZ's new marine Mobile Suits: Cancers, they were called. Apparently their secondary control circuitry kept frying under the heavy pressure of undersea maneuvers. While my main area of expertise was aerial suits, I could reluctantly see the point of my transfer. These Cancers were the first generation of undersea MS, and there weren't any Cancer experts to call on besides the ones who built the damn things. Your average civilian engineer may be hot shit at tech design, but most of them don't know the first thing about military maintenance procedures. So the suits end up in drydock while they call in the poor bastards who'll end up handling the things--namely me. Well, me and the Seventh Mobile Suit Engineering Division, that is.

Even though he was stationed at the same base, I didn't see much of Marquise. According to scuttlebutt, he was in and out a lot, doing the diplomatic thing with the Alliance naval types who wanted these suits. Better him than me, I guess.

The Cancers were a mess. Whoever designed their main circuit boards was worthy of being drug out into the street and shot. The only way to get at them was to slither inside the service hatch under the missile mountings, twisting yourself into a pretzel in the process. Then you had to rewire and solder circuits with your head smack up against a heat-transfer pump for the main power plant, because the boards couldn't be removed short of cutting open the entire suit. The entire division spent a lot of time speculating on the best way to kill the son of a bitch who designed those accesses. By the time we left, the most popular idea was stuffing him into one of his own maintenance hatches, welding it shut, and dropping him into the Marianas Trench. The general consensus was that imploding at six thousand fathoms was an appropriately messy fate for the bastard.

Bad design or not, these were the Alliance's new multi-kajillion-credit babies. So we fixed them. It took a judicious amount of grease, sweat and profanity, but we were the best mechanics in the Specials, dammit, and the job got done. We also took a little time out to point out a few home truths to the civilian 'experts' that they'd flown in for consultation. Namely, that access hatches designed for double-jointed circus midgets were NOT designed to endear themselves to your average grease monkey.

For once I wasn't the instigator of that little bit of trouble. It was Bubba who did most of the talking.

Bubba's real name was Richard Harcourt the Third. In addition to being a Master Sergeant, a Knight-Commander in OZ, and one of the sharpest technical minds in the Alliance, he was also over six feet of rawboned muscle with a twice-broken nose and perpetually flat blond-ish hair. He *looked* like a Bubba. With typical grease-monkey humor, the moniker stuck, even if most of the crew ended up calling him 'Bubba sir'.

The civilian geeks were quite impressed with Bubba. He used small words to make sure they got the point, but I think they were even more impressed by his practical demonstration of exactly how you had to fold a man to make him fit into a Cancer maintenance hatch. Using a civilian 'volunteer', of course.

The Powers That Be had a hissy fit when they found out, but the fallout was pretty minor. That in and of itself was unusual. Verbal reprimands all around, of course--we were very naughty boys, don't do that again, yatta yatta yatta. We all nodded and looked appropriately chastised--Yessir, we understand. Playing Origami Geek does not help Alliance PR. Bad dog, no biscuit.

Still, it was a slap across the wrist. They knew it, and we knew it.

* * *

A week later my division was transferred to San Francisco. It was a relief to get out of Africa for a while. The weather was nicer, the women friendlier, and you didn't have to get shots for fifty different kinds of tropical diseases every two weeks while stationed there. A bit smoggy, but you can't have everything.

Another day, another suit malfunction. Those same Aries prototypes had finished their preliminary testing runs and were now going through live-fire exercises. Problem? The weapons guidance systems were acting strangely. Random glitches and targeting errors kept popping up, making life hell for the pilots. So the pilots bitched--and unlike us mere menials, when pilots bitch, OZ listens.

I had a sneaking suspicion that this particular problem might be a bit out of my purview. It sounded more like a software than a hardware problem to me, and my coding skills had never been the best. A few diagnostic runs and some exploratory surgery seemed to confirm this. As much as it grated, I had to step back and let the computer geeks of the division have at the battle computer protocols and the Aries OS. It made me bored and twitchy. I hate being relegated to backseat driving.

Marquise arrived two weeks later, and immediately started intimidating the hell out of the local pilots. Everyone on the ground could tell when the dogfights were over. All we had to do was look for the bloody shreds of overinflated egos falling from the sky.

He hadn't been on the base three days when the request came down--engine problems with Marquise's MS that the crew assigned couldn't seem to handle. They would like me to assist, right now thankyouverymuch. I was surprised, but jumped at the chance to be useful. I'd been going stir crazy, and having me breathing down the computer guys' necks wasn't helping their performance any.

The Aries' problem wasn't so much a matter of fixing a malfunction as it was repairing existing damage. Marquise had simply been pushing the MS too hard and too fast for the standard thruster config to handle. Basically he was asking for power that he knew the machine had but that the built-in safety mechanisms weren't allowing the thrusters to provide, and it was throwing his maneuvering out of whack. Trust Marquise to push his MS so far beyond spec that even the latest model Aries couldn't keep up with the man. Fucking typical.

So I modified the boards in question, rerouting the power necessary for the extra thrust into secondary circuits I knew had the capacity to handle it. Marquise's crew chief, a weasely little man whose name I made a point of not remembering, nearly had a stroke when he found out. He waved his hands. He shouted. He accused me of threatening his crew's reputation and Marquise's safety. I ignored him. Then he trotted us both off for a repeat performance in front of Marquise.

Cornered in the middle of a stack of paperwork, Marquise listened with his head propped on one fist. When the man finally ran out of breath, he looked at me and asked one question.

"Do you think it's safe?"

I shrugged. "As safe as I can make it."

He turned back to the crew chief. "His modifications stay."

"But..."

"Objections noted. Prep the Aries for the hop at 0600 tomorrow. Dismissed."

Since I had a vested interest, I showed up for the dawn preflight, then stayed to watch how the Aries performed. As I watched Marquise once again reduce OZ's finest to tears, I replayed yesterday's little confrontation in my head. My suspicions began to solidify. Once was happenstance; twice, a coincidence. Three times was enemy action.

Marquise brought the Aries to a precise landing on the tarmac, settling its bulk neatly between the waiting crews. I stepped past him as he climbed out of the hatch and began hooking up the cables to the ADR modules preparatory to download. Judging by the satisfied line of his jaw, the modifications were the kick he'd been looking for, but I wanted the hard data, just to be sure. You can never trust a pilot completely on these things, not even Marquise. Every MS pilot I've ever known has been supremely confident of their own immortality.

I decided to strike while the iron was hot. "So exactly what are you trying to pull, Marquise?"

The bulk of the engines were between us and the other techs, giving the two of us a certain amount of privacy. He glanced over at me, features inscrutable behind the mask.

"What?"

"I'm not stupid, Lieutenant," I snapped, even as I punched up the readouts from the run. The green numbers scrolled by obediently, and I grunted in absent approval. "You don't think I haven't noticed what you've been doing?"

"Do you have a problem with it?" He'd gone from inscrutable to slightly amused.

I punched a few keys a little harder than necessary and shot him a glare over my shoulder. "Look, Marquise. I don't know what you're up to, and I don't really give a damn where I go. But if you're going to have me tagging around like some lapdog, then do yourself a favor. Stop pulling strings and just get me reassigned as your personal secretary or something. This kind of cloak and dagger crap is annoying."

He gave me an odd, quirky half-smile from under the mask as he straightened his cuffs. "I'll take it under advisement. . .under one condition."

"What?" I asked suspiciously.

"Call me Zechs." The smirky smile widened, white teeth flashing under the helmet. "Every time you say 'Marquise', you look like you're sucking on a lemon."

And then the bastard turned and strolled away, just like that.

Okay, so I wasn't expecting him to take my suggestion seriously. But he did. It wasn't long after that I was assigned to Marquise's staff--exactly *what* staff, I'd like to know--as his 'chief engineering liaison'.

Oh well. At least I didn't have to take dictation.

* * *

Turns out that while I was the first man assigned to Marquise's staff, I certainly wasn't the last. After a few months more personnel came on board: a mix of military analysts, pilots, and even a few tech-heads like Harcourt that I'd recommended when asked. It was because of the Gundam threat of course, though we weren't informed of that until much later. There was no proof at first--just unconfirmed intelligence reports and vague suspicions. Then came more serious rumblings of a military buildup within the colonies, and rumors of new superweapons under development. Apparently what intel OZ did have was enough to make Khushrenada nervous.

The end result? Authorization for Marquise to form a squad of his own, and the latitude to mount a front-line defense against the colonies and these so-called Gundams, wherever and whenever an incursion might occur. Marquise also had a blanket authorization to do practically anything he liked and reported only to the General himself, which drove the Alliance nuts.

Khushrenada knew what he was doing, though. The pieces started to fall into place over the course of the next year or so, and I grudgingly came to realize that at least some of Marquise's arrogance was justified. The man had a head for strategy that would have done Machiavelli proud, even if his execution tended to be a bit loony. It kept the rank and file on their toes, though; they could never figure out what he was going to do next. That fact gave me both a perverse sort of satisfaction and a new respect for Marquise. The colonies may have succeeded in concealing the details of their terrorist activities from us, but it was Zechs that made sure they had to work damn hard to do it.

We bounced all over the planet, including several jaunts to the colonies, chasing after rumors of rebel factions and terrorist enclaves while Zechs played shell games with the Alliance that made my head hurt even to think about. Thankfully, my job was a hell of a lot easier. All I had to do was fly whatever Marquise needed me to fly, and fix whatever needed fixing. As a side benefit, I ended up with my MS certifications. Between the threat from the colonies and the upcoming Operation Daybreak, OZ wasn't taking any chances on coming up short on pilots. It wasn't the way I had once hoped to fly. . . but I told myself that it was enough.

Then A.C. 195 rolled around. After spending a little over a year with nothing better than rumors and false leads, we finally ran smack into a Gundam for the first time--and then got sucked into everything else that followed in their wake.

* * *

Not that running into a Gundam had been an accident on our part, mind you. We'd been getting intel on this 'Operation Meteor' of theirs for months, and had been on high alert for the last week or so. OZ intelligence knew something was going to happen; they just didn't know when. This meant we spent most of our time in low orbit with our sensors wide open, waiting for the other shoe to drop--and sure enough, it did.

"We've caught up," I reported briskly. I'd almost gone stir-crazy staring at these instruments; any longer and my eyes would have been permanently crossed. It was nice to see it hadn't been for nothing. "I'll bring it on screen."

"Just as I thought." Somehow Marquise managed to sound worried and smug all at once. "So that's their little battle-seed, all ready to sprout into new battles."

"Operation M?" asked Lt. Vance. It required a near superhuman effort, but I managed to resist any smart remarks. What did he think we were up here for--stargazing? He'd had the same briefing as the rest of us; we all knew what the colonies were trying to do. How oblivious could you get?

Marquise chose to ignore the comment. "He'll have to reduce speed. There's a civilian shuttle in his way." There was a faint undertone in his voice, one that I couldn't identify. Not quite concern, but something else.

I glanced sideways at Vance in confusion. Playing games with civilian lives isn't usually in Marquise's repertoire. "Don't you think he'll shoot down the shuttle in order to get away?"

"The fighter has to know we're behind him," he replied neutrally. "I doubt he'll shoot it down in front of us. He is on a secret mission, after all." Behind the confidence, though, I could tell he was worried, and for good reason. The presence of noncombatants changed everything. It wasn't just our lives on the line anymore if he was wrong.

"He's entered the atmosphere, but we're still on him," I reported. Reentry was going to make tracking difficult, but not impossible. Then the bandit's flight path suddenly changed radically, altering its angle of descent--it looked like we'd been spotted as well. I kept my eyes on the sensors, alert for any signs of jamming as I reported the news. "Sir, the capsule has changed its course."

As Marquise sat up straight and blurted, "What? That's suicidal!" I mentally chalked one up for the terrorist. It's not every day the great Lightning Baron is surprised. Sometimes Marquise believes a little too much of his own press.

"Maybe he thinks that the only way to keep this mission secret is to destroy the evidence?" Lt. Vance, everyone--our very own master of the obvious. Then I looked at my numbers and cut off that particular line of thought.

"No, the capsule is accelerating--he's trying to break away!" In addition to the radical acceleration, the entry angle had become dangerously steep. Was the colony pilot an idiot?

Vance echoed my confusion out loud. "Impossible! No spacecraft could endure the heat of reentry at that speed."

"Not necessarily," Marquise said, leaning forward in interest. "It appears our enemies are very technologically advanced."

Advanced technology or not, it still looked like the pilot had overestimated his craft. The thing's shell was cracking even as we watched, fragmenting into flaming debris. Massive fissures snaked across its surface as the thing continued to plummet, and it was only a matter of time before the thing exploded as its fuel overheated. The armor plating broke apart, right on cue--and then a fighter unfolded from the molten debris!

I boggled, bug-eyed. "Lt. Zechs, is this. . .?" I blurted, then cut myself short in order to track the enemy fighter through all of the fallout.

"The colony's new weapon is a fighter," stated Zechs speculatively. He was probably wondering exactly what kind of fighter pilot would think he could take on the entire Alliance. He wouldn't be the only one.

"So this is the colonies' secret weapon. . . . " Vance murmured, impressed.

Our sensors were doing their work, busily feeding us data on the enemy aircraft. I swept an assessing eye over the brightly-colored armor, shaking off my surprise at the colonies' unorthodox tactics, and commented, "Odd design. It moves just like a bird. . ." Now that my brain was working again, I could see what appeared to be compartmentalized engine units. The swept-back wings and thruster array seemed to be based only vaguely off of an Aries' suit design. . . .

"We're reached cruising altitude. We can proceed to attack," Vance reported briskly.

Overeager little bastard. I suppressed a grimace. It was our job to neutralize the colony invader, no matter how intriguing a piece of machinery it was. But that didn't mean I had to like it. "OK."

"Let's wake him up with a warning shot," Vance said, fingers already flying to calibrate the targeting system.

"No, it won't listen to a warning. Just shoot him down!" Marquise's order surprised even Vance.

Mister 'Death Before Dishonor' Marquise, telling us to fire without warning? For the first time in the engagement, I hesitated. I dared to pull my eyes away from my instruments for a minute and glance back over my shoulder. "Lt. Zechs?"

"We were told that the purpose of this mission was to intercept the weapon, but the real target appears to be right in front of us," he replied. I felt the hair on the back of my neck prickle. That meant that this was no longer an easy interception of a lightly-armed carrier, but a confrontation with a heavily-armored and -fanged enemy aircraft. I had been part of Marquise's squad long enough to see most of the intel OZ had on these so-called 'Gundams'. It wasn't pretty.

That was all the confirmation I needed. I turned back to my console, only to discover that apparently Zechs wasn't the only one who wanted a fight. "Lt. Zechs, the enemy fighter has reversed its course and is heading straight for us!"

"Is the Leo ready?"

I just knew that was coming. Marquise would use any excuse to get out there in a Mobile Suit, just so he could fight with the damn thing on his own terms. That damned duelist's mentality was his biggest weakness. I tuned out Vance's brief 'discussion' with Marquise on whether or not using the Leo was appropriate. Truthfully, I suspected that fighting in an Aries wouldn't give Zechs that much more of an advantage. That thing was moving damnably *fast*.

Luck seemed to be with us, though. Even with Marquise's Leo in freefall, it was clear that the enemy fighter was at a disadvantage. Sensor data couldn't tell me why, though I was betting on either the pilot's unfamiliarity with atmosphere or a mechanical failure of some kind. Nevertheless, he was still giving Zechs a run for his money. The dogfight was brief but brutal, and we had our hands full just trying to stay out of the line of fire as Marquise clashed with the enemy pilot.

It was all over in a matter of seconds. Marquise finally got the opportunity for a clean shot, and even gundanium proved to be no match against a chain rifle at point-blank range. With his usual panache, Marquise blew him away, sending the fighter spiraling down towards the ocean.

Vance was busy serving as Zechs' personal cheerleader, I noticed. "Nice shot, Lieutenant Zechs!"

In contrast, Zechs sounded downright disappointed.

". . .so much for him. That was much too easy."

Reed and Kerzchoff hovered uncertainly in their Aries, unsure whether the brief flurry of engagement was truly over. "Lieutenant, should we chase him down once you return with the Leo?"

"No, we'll follow him down with the carrier and capture him on land," Marquise replied. "This will be our chance to find out the purpose behind this 'Operation M' of theirs."

Watching my instruments as they tracked the path of the falling machine, I asked, "What about the possibility of a self-destruct?" It was the oldest trick in the book, and seemed like too basic a precaution for the colony pilot to overlook.

"He's made it all the way to Earth. He's not going to commit suicide before he even sets foot on it." Marquise picks the damnedest times to get poetic.

Our little invader wasn't done with us yet, though. Instead of crashing into the ocean like a good little bad guy, the bandit recovered. . .and then seemed to break apart in midair! I watched in disbelief as the wing and engine units slid away, revealing a torso breastplate as they swiveled and locked themselves an entirely new configuration. In a matter of seconds, familiar armored appendages and gauntlets extended into place from previously hidden housings. Then, just to top it all off, it pulled out a monster rifle of some sort. This thing wasn't just a new kind of fighter--it was a fucking MS!

Even Zechs seemed to be in shock. "It transformed into a Mobile Suit?" Score another one for the terrorist. Zechs' unflappable facade was not faring well.

"What kind of suit is that?" I asked, even though I was pretty sure I knew the answer. That design wasn't like any I had ever seen before, unless Romefeller had taken some new strides in MS technology that I didn't know about.

Marquise echoed my thoughts aloud. "No idea." He left the rest unsaid, but I could almost hear the wheels turning. A variable geometry MS, gundanium-armored, combat-ready, and of a design never seen before. To be able to produce something like this. . .obviously the colonies were more of a threat than we had ever suspected.

"Sir, leave him to us," Reed broke in eagerly. I snorted and rolled my eyes. Reed was the new kid, just reassed to Marquise's staff and very eager to prove himself in front of the great 'Lightning Baron'. Still, he was an excellent pilot, if a bit green when it came to actual combat experience.

Triggering the Leo's chute, Marquise gave the go ahead. "Do it."

Reed and Kerzchoff had already settled into a classic formation, flanking the enemy to either side. Reed led the attack run against the enemy MS, diving hard and taking full advantage of his Aries' maneuverability to attack from both sides with rifle fire and missiles. Against any other target it would have been overkill, but Reed wasn't taking any chances.

Vance and I watched in disbelief as the 40mm rounds rattled off the gundanium armor like spitballs. The enemy pilot barely seemed to register the barrage of firepower leveled at it. Pivoting in midair, it didn't even bother to evade. Instead it leveled that huge rifle, and fired at *both* Aries at once. For a moment, I believed it was a wild and desperate shot made by a sensor-blinded pilot. Then the enemy pilot proved me wrong as the oversized rifle unleashed a cannon-blast of firepower that fried most of our forward sensors--and completely destroyed both Aries in one shot.

My knuckles were white on the controls. Two Aries lost within a matter of seconds. This was far worse than what we had been expecting. Apparently Zechs felt the same way.

"He blew away two Aries with just one shot?! Not too shabby!" Deciding that it was time to pull one of his own trademark insane maneuvers, Zechs disengaged the Leo from its chute harness and let it fall.

"What the--?!" Vance caught himself in mid-outburst. I bit my own tongue, feeling my neck hair prickle as the Leo, saber out, slammed into the enemy MS and sent them both tumbling into freefall. The two suits strained against each other in a crazy midair wrestling match, the ocean rushing to meet them as they fell. Despite the other pilot's midair advantage, Zechs managed to pin the enemy MS in a modified jointlock with only seconds to spare. Then he opened the hatch and jumped free, cool as a cucumber, leaving the enemy entangled by the smaller suit and unable to escape.

In retrospect, the stunt was a smart tactical maneuver. It used the Leo's strength to best advantage, all the while staying too close for the enemy pilot to simply blow him away. It also happened to be a move that bordered on the suicidal. For a moment, I had been a bit worried. . .it would be just like Zechs to follow the enemy down. Since I really didn't want to have to explain to General Khushrenada why his favorite lieutenant was splattered all over the Mediterranean, it was a bit of a relief to see that white emergency chute pop open.

Not that I would ever tell *him* that. "Lt. Zechs, are you all right?"

"Yes. Sorry to worry you, but I did what I had to."

I bit back my initial response. After all, telling your commanding officer that he is a fucking idiot is never a good idea. "What you did was damn near give me a heart attack. What kind of fucked-up maneuver was *that*?" I muttered, too softly for the pickups--or Vance--to hear. Shaking my head, I continued more loudly, "We have a complete data analysis. Judging by the strength of the armor, it could only be made of gundanium alloy."

"So then. . .that was a Gundam." Over the crackle of the wind, I heard the background roar of the two Mobile Suits as they crashed into the ocean. "That means the Mobile Suit may have survived undamaged, even if that reckless pilot didn't."

Another signal came online, and I listened for a moment. "Sir, the Marina mothership is offering to salvage the unregistered suit."

Zechs' reply was dismissive. "Let them do as they wish. Give them the coordinates for retrieval."

"Yes, sir." I opened a priority channel, keeping one eye on Zechs' parachute. His attention was focused on where the two suits had crashed. He was intrigued. . .I could tell. The sheer possibility of a pilot that could match his level of skill had him hooked, no matter how brief the fight.

I couldn't really blame him. If the pilot fascinated him, then I was just as enthralled by the Gundams. I itched to get my hands on them, right to the depths of my mechanically-obsessed soul. I realized how morbid that was; after all, we'd just lost two good men in taking out a single Gundam, and if Zechs hadn't been there, we probably would have lost more. Even so, all I wanted to do was take that Gundam apart, see what it was made of. . . and what it could do.

* * *

My wish came close to being fulfilled after our first encounter, but I lost my opportunity due to the Alliance's bungling. We lost Vance at the same time, in an underwater encounter with yet *another* Gundam. As much as the twit had irritated me, his and the others' deaths hit us all hard. We'd lost almost half our team in just two days. Still, I knew we would see more of the Gundams, especially if Zechs had anything to say about it.  


* * *

I got my second chance sooner than I had expected. . .in the form of an old friend and an early-morning vid-call.

Walker was practically babbling, stuttering words in his excitement. "Otto! You'll never believe it--I couldn't believe it myself. I mean, it was just sitting there in storage; half of it's in pieces, but I think--no, I *know* this has gotta be it!"

Walker was a rare bird--an OZ pilot that I could call a friend. We'd met during a nasty little operation a few years back in Bogotá. He'd been a wet behind the ears sprat just out of the Academy, flying recon over areas with suspected rebel activities. Snipers had been taking potshots at the officers, and his crew chief had had the top of his skull blown off in a shot meant for the kid. As luck would have it, I ended up filling in as the guy's replacement.

It turned out that Walker was a pretty decent kid, with none of the prissy arrogance I'd come to expect from a pilot. His family wasn't noble in any way, shape, or form. Instead, he was one of OZ's rare scholarship recruits. He'd started out in the Alliance engineering program, and then later fought his way into the Specials' closed ranks through sheer talent. He worshipped the ground that Khushrenada and Marquise walked on with a kind of starry-eyed idealism that I'd always found annoying, but at least he had a sense of humor about it.

He also had absolutely no qualms about getting his hands dirty if something needed to be done, and in the end that's all that mattered in my book. Of course, it also helped that he was damn amusing to hang out with while off-duty. The kid couldn't hold his liquor worth a damn--give him a couple beers, and he'd be crooning 'Blue Moon of Kentucky' to the nearest thing that looked even vaguely female.

I hadn't seen him in over a year, however. He'd been under Marquise's command briefly, only to end up posted to the Middle East Aries Unit while I bounced all over the damn planet in Zechs' wake. So I think I could be forgiven for being a little dense when he woke me out of a sound (and jetlagged) sleep with his big news.

I rubbed my eyes and groped around for a sweater. This base got damn cold at night. "Walker--you're my friend. And as a friend, I'm gonna give you exactly two minutes to start making sense." I glanced over at the dimly glowing numbers on my bedside clock. 0300 hours. I had to be up at 0530. Shit. "Otherwise I'm going to hunt you down and beat you to death with a torque wrench."

Walker blinked. "Oh, sorry--did I wake you up?"

"WALKER!"

"Right. Sorry, sir. It's just that--okay, you remember a few days ago? Zechs' teleconference on the Gundam data? The vid got distributed to all pilots before our briefing on the Gundam threat, and something in it started to bug me. Remember how you were going on about how we couldn't figure out how the hell those Gundams were getting the kind of power curve the sensors said they were? Well, I thought that data looked kind of familiar, but I couldn't remember where I'd seen it before until I finally pulled up one of my old Academy papers on the development of Mobile Suit technology in the Alliance, and there it was!"

I resisted the urge to pound my head against the desk. "There *what* was, Walker?"

"The Tallgeese!"

* * *

Walker had unearthed it, rotting away in an Alliance armory. The thing was enormous, easily twice as big as a standard Taurus, and armored beyond all belief. Ostensibly it was a prototype, an obsolete model from which modern MS technology had been developed.

Obsolete, my ass.

Walker had been positively giddy on the com. Thankfully he calmed down before meeting Zechs again face to face. Otherwise I would have lost all respect for him, old friend or not.

Zechs got first crack at the Tallgeese, of course. Walker gave him the guided tour while I was busy speaking with the tower (again!) about our flight plans and the lack of documentation thereof. I keep hoping the Alliance will figure out what 'top secret' means, but no luck so far. The delay didn't annoy me too much, though. Walker and Zechs could talk all the pilot-babble they wanted. What I wanted was to see this thing with my own two eyes and make sure that it was actually a viable craft after being mothballed for so long.

So I snagged the kid after Marquise got through with him. Since we were short on time, I had him give me the complete rundown while I climbed around the pieced-apart suit. Walker had done his research--unfortunately, there hadn't been much information to find.

"So, according to Alliance records, this was the first Mobile Suit prototype to be built?"

Walker grimaced. "Well, the first viable one, anyway. There were some earlier ones but they all. . ." He gave a descending whistle and dived his hand at the floor.

"Crashed and burned, huh. Not surprising," I remarked, poking at the inside of an access hatch. One thing to be said for a climate-controlled armory; there was hardly a speck of rust on this thing.

"Well, apparently they were trying for a flight-capable model that could also fight effectively on the ground. Considering that we just managed to achieve that a few years ago ourselves with the introduction of the Aries, I'd say it's pretty impressive that they got as far as they did."

I snorted. "You know what they say. Close only counts in horseshoes, hand grenades, and tactical nukes."

"Cynic," Walker accused mildly. "Anyway, the Alliance didn't have much luck until they brought in a new design team. Apparently there were a couple maverick geniuses on the team who made some real breakthroughs in Mobile Suit design, and the Tallgeese was the end result."

"Yeah?" There didn't seem to be any major parts missing, which was good. This suit was a helluva lot more complex than it seemed at first, and I didn't want to make any bets on being able to rebuild any important components. "So who were these so-called geniuses? And how come I've never heard of them?"

Walker slouched against a nearby cannon housing, crossing his arms. "You know, I'm not sure. The records are pretty clear that there were two guys heading the project--Dr. Jerrod Slator and Howard K. McClure--but after the Tallgeese project was scrapped, I couldn't find any other mention of them in reference to any other projects, military or civilian." He shrugged. "One of those things, I guess. Maybe they didn't like the way their research was being handled."

"Yeah, well, academic eggheads are notorious for getting their shorts in a bunch when it comes to military applications." I snorted again. "What did they think the Alliance wanted giant piloted robots for, anyway? Playing chess?" I pulled out a couple of circuit boards and blew off the dust. A quick comparison with the schematics told me I was looking at secondary stabilizer motherboards. . .but with the oddest damn processor configuration I'd ever seen.

"Well, they certainly knew their stuff. Here, take a look." He pulled a file from the stack of schematics and handed it over. "These are the results of their initial test runs."

Wiping off my hands, I flipped through the file. "Wait a minute. . . these numbers can't be right."

Walker shook his head. "No, they're correct. The Tallgeese has power to spare." He met my eyes soberly. "And the medical records on what happened to their test pilots were quite extensive."

"Huh." I tossed the file back down to him, and jumped down after it. "Well everything seems to be here, so I think we can rebuild it. And if Zechs can't fly it, then no one can." As if on cue, the phone rang.

Walker picked it up. "Hangar five." I watched his eyes narrow as he listened. Something was up. "Already? Do we have an E.T.A.?"

The answer didn't seem to be good. "Damn." Another pause as he listened. "All right, I'm on my way." He hung up and glanced over, face grim.

"Otto, get the Tallgeese loaded up. The base is going on alert--we've got an incoming Gundam."

* * *

"Move it, people!" I hollered. "Don't worry about the paint job--just pack her on and get going!" There was a crash from outside--inside the crew ducked falling pieces of rafter and scrabbled for footing.

We'd just managed to maneuver the last sections of the suit onto a cobbled-up double dolly when the first explosions rocked the ground underfoot . None of the regular suit dollies had proved big enough for this monster, and even now we were struggling to wrestle the huge sections into place. Adding to the pressure was that the combat was moving our way; we could all hear the continuous rolling thunder of shelling along with the screaming of missiles.

With the last chain locked down, I punched the dolly into motion. "Go! Get to the carrier and stand by to secure this thing down!" The dolly lumbered forward, heavy engines whining under the strain. The running crew easily outpaced me as they headed for the half-open hangar and its waiting aircraft, and a fresh billow of oily black smoke filled the air as the doors rumbled open. Outside, the airstrip had become a battlefield.

I was halfway to the plane, hunched low over the wheel, when the com crackled open. "Lieutenant! We've got movement towards the end of our runway!"

I squinted but didn't stop, trying to see through the haze. "Threat assessment, Mr. Arzvahd." A thick plume of smoke swept past, leaving me coughing. Then a glint of gold pierced through the gloom, and my blood froze as I saw an unidentified MS advancing on the base, armor glinting gold and armed with a pair of saber-style weapons.

"Sir, it's a second Gundam--and this one has support troops!"

"Fuck! " Could this get any worse? I kept the dolly pointed straight, pushing it as hard as it would go. Unfortunately, that still wasn't very fast; these things were built for strength, not speed. "Keep those engines hot and stand by. I'm coming in!"

The dolly hit the loading ramp with a reverberating *thud*, the metal groaning under the weight. MS in tow, I maneuvered hastily to the center of the empty bay and brought the dolly to a shuddering halt, grateful I hadn't broken an axle along the way.

I swung out of the cab. "Harcourt, Sikes! Secure it down. Make it tight--I don't care if you have to fucking weld this thing in place, just so long as it stays put! I don't want it sliding around on us." The crew was already in motion, hauling chain and locking down the suit. I ran for the forward cabin. "Status?"

"It looks like they haven't noticed us yet, Lieutenant," Arzvahd reported, relieved. "The new Gundam is heading towards the first one's position, and the Alliance is keeping both of them engaged."

I snorted. "I knew they had to be good for something. Where's Marquise?"

"Still trying to get through to the Alliance CO. The tower was the first thing the Gundams hit, so he's over at the hangar twelve communications relay."

"Shit!" That was within spitting distance of both Gundams. Knowing Zechs, he'd stay until the absolute last minute unless someone hauled his ass away. Guess who got that little job? "Arzvahd, get her prepped for takeoff. I'm going after Lieutenant Zechs."

"Yes sir!"

Finding the hangar was easy enough, but getting there was another matter entirely. With that massive firefight going on over most of the airstrip, taking the direct route would be like asking to get shot. So the long way around it was. I ended up using most of the base buildings as cover for my commandeered (and hopefully inconspicuous) jeep, keeping one ear on the radio chatter as the battle progressed. It didn't come as any surprise that the Alliance forces were losing ground. With some impromptu shortcuts, I screeched up to the hangar in a matter of minutes, just in time to see an Aries squadron scream into the sky in perfect formation. . .

. . .and head straight for the Gundams.

Walker. It had to be Walker. I slammed a fist into the steering wheel. "Damn it, Walker--what are you *doing*?" That damned stupid kid. He'd contracted a case of the Marquise Disease, and I was suddenly, terribly certain he wouldn't survive it. A stray missile hit a nearby fuel tanker, reminding me that this was no time to be sitting out in the open as it turned it into a boiling pillar of fire. I ducked flaming shrapnel reflexively, rolling out of the jeep. Head down, I scuttled for the safety of the hangar.

Once inside I pounded up the stairs, trying to remember what suits might still be available. Walker's division had the only Aries stationed on base, but there should be a few Leos left. I was grasping at straws, and I knew it. A single Leo didn't stand a chance against one Gundam, much less two. But perhaps as a diversion. . . . I threw open the door, heart pounding. "Lt. Zechs, we're ready to leave--"

\--and I saw Walker die.

The Aries MS was the first fighter-type aerial suit ever developed. It had superior mobility, long-range strike and reconnaissance capability, and was capable of the most advanced ACM of its type. But the Aries was no tank, its armor light in comparison to the average Leo. It was never meant for extended close-range combat.

The second Gundam's blades tore through the main body of the Aries like it was made of paper. It sliced apart the lower engine units and legs from the main cockpit module, severing fuel lines and shredding the missile bays. The rest fell apart in a cascade of sparks, drenched in thruster fuel--then exploded in a fireball of smoke and fire.

Walker didn't even have a chance to eject.

The Gundam continued its progress, not even scratched by the point blank explosion. Zechs' voice was rigidly controlled, barely audible over the rattle of continuing gunfire. "Commander Bonapa?"

Finger by finger, I loosened my deathgrip on the doorknob. My own voice sounded eerily calm in my ears. "We've received word that he's safe. Lt. Zechs--let me go fight in a Leo."

"Otto!" The arrogant facade faltered for the barest fraction of a moment as he snapped, "Don't make this harder for me."

"Sir?"

"I need to convince myself to stay here and protect the Tallgeese. I--" He never took his eyes off of the remains of Walker's squad. "Please. . .I need your help."

Somehow I managed to unclench my fists and salute. "Sir."

"Let's go." He paused, and made one final promise to Walker.

". . .you won't be forgotten."

It was a promise I'm sure the kid would have treasured--if he'd been alive to hear it.

* * *

One thing to be said for OZ: it throws great funerals. I had no doubt that after they managed to scrape up what was left of Walker off of the airfield, they would send him home in state. He would be buried with full military honors: pomp and circumstance, honor guard, heraldic flags and all. If our mission hadn't been such top priority, we would have been there as a matter of course. However, that metal monster that Walker had bequeathed to us took precedence over everything, including saying a proper goodbye to one of the bravest men I'd ever known.

After the fiasco at Corsica, we landed at Tripoli to refuel and patch various dings and bullet holes. We only planned to be there for a couple of days, then we would be heading out again. Even during such a brief stopover the crew was jumpy as hell, and I was no exception. It felt like I had 'OZ officer! Come kill me!' printed in big red letters between my shoulder blades every time we stopped moving. The Gundams' terror tactics were damnably effective, and only Zechs seemed to be his usual unflappable self.

Since I had a sneaking suspicion that I might not get the chance otherwise, I dedicated one of those nights to Walker.

I was on my third round and feeling hazily morose when Zechs decided to barge in. He stopped short in the doorway, a sheaf of papers forgotten in one hand. I could practically see his nose wrinkle as the smell hit him.

"What are you doing?" His voice was sharp and disapproving.

I raised my glass to him in a sloshy salute, glad to see that my reputation as a shiftless drunk hadn't completely disappeared. "Just spending some quality time, sir. One last hurrah for the recently departed." I tilted my head sideways, glancing cockeyed at the three untouched shots sitting on the empty side of the table. "Too bad Walker's not holding up his end of the conversation. But then, he always was a lightweight."

"Otto. . ." Zechs stopped. I could practically see the wheels turning underneath that shiny metal dome. He tried again. "Otto--this won't help."

"Well it certainly won't hurt, either." I kicked a chair out with one foot. "Take a load off, Mr. Lightning-Lieutenant sir. Whatever it is, it can wait." I gave him a mocking, sardonic look. "Unless you're too good to drink with the likes of us?"

He stiffened, and I could see him getting ready to leave in a huff. Then his eyes dropped to Walker's empty seat, the three shots sitting haphazardly in front of it. His shoulders sagged, and he dropped into the chair with a resigned air.

Admittedly I hadn't been expecting him to take me up on the offer, but I had too much alcohol in me to really be surprised. I thumped a glass down in front of him and poured another round, the bottle clinking loudly against the glass rims. Planting my elbow on the table, I raised my glass and looked him in the eye. "So what do we drink to?"

Zechs contemplated his own glass, then raised it to meet mine. "To the soldiers of the future."

My mouth twisted sourly, but a toast was a toast. "To the soldiers of the future." I tossed back the shot, and added under my breath, "Damn fools."

"Why do you say that?" Zechs asked. I mentally damned his sharp ears--then damned my inability to keep my damn mouth shut for good measure.

"Nothing." I waved a hand dismissively and refilled my glass. "Never mind, sir. It doesn't matter."

"I beg to differ." Zechs watched as I emptied the bottle into his glass, one arm thrown over the back of his chair. "I think it matters a great deal."

"Christ, Zechs! Can't you just get drunk like the rest of us?" I chucked the bottle in the general direction of the wastebasket. It thumped to the floor and rolled against the baseboard. "It doesn't matter what I think, all right?"

Silence descended. Zechs twisted the glass between three fingers, watching the alcohol slosh, then knocked it back with precision. Watching him, I must admit I'd never considered the logistics of drinking with a big silver bucket on your head before. He'd obviously been practicing.

Setting the glass back down on the table, Zechs gave me a forthright stare. I headed him off before he could ask me another probing question. "So where are we heading next?"

He cocked his head to one side. "Well, that depends. What bases have the facilities we'd need to rebuild the Tallgeese?"

"Well. . ." I considered it, running the possibilities through. "Off the top of my head, I'd say the closest one would be Victoria base. The Alliance has a full production line there, so they'd have all the materials and expertise we're going to need." Since we were out of whiskey, I got up and rummaged around in the icebox. Grabbing a few haphazard beers, I thunked one down in front of Zechs and then flopped back in my chair.

"Victoria. . ." He drummed his fingers. "They're not very covert, are they?"

I snorted. "Victoria base? They're about as far from top secret as you can get. Everyone knows the Alliance manufactures Leos out of Victoria." I twisted the top off my beer and took a healthy swig. "And you can bet good money that it's on the Gundams' hit list."

"It's a risk, but. . ." He popped open his beer, but didn't drink, white-gloved fingers playing idly with the bottlecap. "Anywhere else, and we run the risk of being intercepted."

"Always assuming that wherever we ended up going hadn't already been blown to hell and back." I gave him a twisted smile. "We seem to be running out of bases."

"Hardly. Trouble does seem to follow in our wake, however, and I'd rather not see any more men die because of it." His fingers clenched around the bottle so hard I almost expected to hear it creak. Somehow I didn't think Zechs was really talking about the Alliance soldiers on the bases ahead. Then again, knowing Zechs' tendency towards noblesse oblige, maybe he was.

I shrugged. "Maybe so. Maybe not." I looked up at the ceiling, and chanced a shot that I knew would sting. "Walker knew the risks, and he made his own decisions."

Zechs didn't have any clever reply to that. I listened to the faint sound of someone's radio seeping in through the cracked-open window, a country crooner warbling soulfully away between bursts of static, and wondered if the kid had ever managed to find himself a girl. Not that it mattered, really.

Leaning forward again, I tipped one of Walker's untouched shots over with a finger. Watching the liquor puddle onto the table, I murmured, "He may have been a damn fool, but he died the way he wanted. Not many people get to say that."

"What about you?" Zechs asked suddenly.

It took me a minute to pull my wandering brain back into orbit. "What about me?"

"You said that Walker had made his decision. Have you?"

"Does it matter?"

"It does to me." He looked at me soberly. "This whole Gundam thing--it's turned into a bigger mess than I ever expected, and my men are the ones who are paying the price. I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to be reassigned to some other squad. Considering how you feel about OZ, this is a whole lot more than what you signed on for."

"Shit, Zechs. . . I'm not nearly drunk enough for this." Leaning back, I closed my eyes and rolled the bottle against my forehead. I could tell he wasn't about to let it drop, though. My remarks about Walker had cracked open that ironclad armor of his, and he was going to keep picking at mine until I either spilled my guts or took a swing at him.

After a moment's consideration, I caved. Though the alternative was tempting, I didn't really feel like being court-martialed right now.

"Zechs--they killed Walker." I pinned him with a flat stare, and repeated it to make sure it sunk in. "They killed him. Just ripped him apart, and he never even had a chance. This isn't about OZ, the Alliance, or even Operation Daybreak anymore, not for me. This is personal."

"Otto--" Zechs seemed startled at my sudden vehemence. But then, there was no real reason why he would have known just how far back Walker and I went.

"I'm going to rebuild the Tallgeese, sir." My eyes never wavered from his. "I'll fix it, and you'll fly it. And then maybe between the two of us we can show these terrorists what the Specials can *really* do."

* * *

  
Two days later we arrived at Victoria base. We were met by Instructor Noin, unsurprisingly. I'd known that Noin and Zechs were old Academy pals, and everyone knew how attached she was to Zechs. Still, I was more than a little surprised at how ferociously she attached herself to Zechs' side--I'd seen barnacles less clingy.

She was a good instructor, though, and while the rumor mill always had fun with her little Zechs-obsession, it was also well known that she copped a lot less attitude than the usual run of aristocratic brat officers we had to deal with. She never treated the noncoms as personal servants, at least, and she enforced that same attitude with her students. Pretty radical thinking for an OZ instructor, really.

Thankfully, I didn't have to deal with the Instructor or any of the base higher-ups. With Zechs' blessing, I met with the reconstruction crews immediately upon arrival and began terrorizing the Alliance staff up to my standards. Most of them were decent engineers, but they'd been working with assembly-line Leos for so long that they'd gotten out of the habit of actually thinking about what they were doing. I certainly wasn't going to put up with that on a project as touchy as this one, and I made that abundantly clear as the Tallgeese was transferred into a secured hangar. My attitude ruffled more than a few feathers, but with any luck the good engineers would consider it a challenge to prove me wrong. As for the bad ones. . .well, I'd weed out the incompetents soon enough.

We managed to get the 'Geese unloaded a great deal faster than expected, due to the extra cranes and lifts available. I made an initial report to Zechs, letting him know what we had and how long reconstruction was expected to take; most of the crew succumbed to jetlag soon afterwards. Several hours later I'd fallen into a half-doze myself over some blueprints, cup of coffee in hand, when the first explosions shook the hangar. I jerked upright, lukewarm coffee sloshing over my fingers, heart pounding. There were shouts from the hangar crew as things rattled and fell and the walls reverberated with multiple blasts.

_Gundam attack! _I bolted out of the makeshift little cubicle, knocking over the chair in the process, and made a beeline towards the skinny Alliance officer manning the com. "Report!"

"Sir, we have reports of explosions all over the base! And--" He stopped and listened for a moment. "The officers' quarters, sir. . .the cadet dorms were completely destroyed! It looks like that was the focus of the attack!"

"What?!"

"I can confirm that, sir," Sikes said from behind me. I could smell him even before I turned, the acrid, smoky tang of a chemical fire clinging to his soot-smeared uniform. He gave me a somber salute, hair sticking up every which way. "Our quarters were one building over, but we were barely scratched. Some of us went in to help get the survivors out, but. . ." He looked at his hands, face grim. "They're dead, sir. All of them."

"And the officers? What about Lieutenant Zechs?" I paused, realizing how that might sound, and added, "The instructors?"

"The Lieutenant is all right, sir. In fact, the south hangar was barely scratched. All the damage seems to be confined to the dorms and a few surrounding buildings." Sikes managed to look relieved and baffled at the same time. I could sympathize; I felt the same way.

I scrubbed a hand through my hair. "Gott. . . Why would a Gundam go after the cadets?"

The Alliance corporal shook his head. "No Gundams sighted, sir, only a single infiltrator. Apparently Instructor Noin and a security squad are in pursuit."

A single terrorist--sent to bomb kids in their sleep. I didn't pretend to subscribe to OZ's theories of the inherent honor and nobility in waging war, but this. . .this was ruthlessness of a kind I'd never seen. Those kids had barely even been soldiers.

"Sir, we've been ordered to prep the Tauruses for evacuation," the corporal said, handset still clutched in one white-knuckled fist. "I'll tell them load up the Tallgeese first, so the assault carrier can clear the way for the rest of the transports."

"Negative!" I snapped, making Sikes jump. "We're not going anywhere without the Lieutenant's say-so."

The man paled beneath his freckles. "But, sir--we *have* to! We're sitting ducks in here!"

I turned on him. "Is there a problem with your hearing, Corporal? I said we're not budging!" Judging from this wild-eyed specimen, I was right not to trust the Alliance orders. If there was a Gundam out there, we were screwed whether we were in the air or not. And it when it came to Gundams, I'd count on Zechs' judgment over these overzealous assholes any day .

However, Corporal Nitwit seemed to be unable to comprehend this. He repeated stubbornly, "With all due respect, sir, I've been given a direct order. We have to evacuate, with or without your cooperation." He made as if to go around me.

I stepped in front of him again and hissed, "You listen to me, Corporal. If you want to be an idiot and move your own suits, you can go right ahead. But touch even one bolt on the Tallgeese, and I will guarantee that the Gundams will be the least of your worries." I unsnapped the top of my holster to drive the point home. Keeping one eye on him, I hollered, "Harcourt!"

An answering shout came from across the hangar. "Sir!"

"Don't move a damn thing unless I give you a direct order! Make sure this hangar is still secure! Organize a patrol for any more signs of sabotage, and if any Alliance personnel try to board the carrier, place them in custody! Got that?"

"Yes, sir!"

I transferred my glare back to Corporal Nitwit. "You have two choices, Corporal. You can help, or you can sit there with your thumb up your butt. Now move."

More Alliance personnel showed up at the hangar, most likely to help with the evacuation. That seemed to bolster his confidence. "You can't block an Alliance operation this way--I'll have you brought up on charges!" he blustered, fists clenched.

I snorted, amused. "Wouldn't be the first time." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sikes edging over and giving a significant look to some of our crew. A few more holsters were unsnapped, and they began moving our way. Wonderful.

This was turning into a perfect little Mexican standoff. Corporal Nitwit wasn't backing off, and he soon got reinforcements in the form of an Alliance lieutenant who tried pulling rank. It didn't work any better the second time around. The lieutenant ordered the Tauruses loaded anyway, and had them try to swing their carriers around ours, with predictable results. There just wasn't enough room for them to maneuver.

Things were starting to turn really ugly by the time Zechs sauntered in. He headed straight to where the lieutenant was shouting one frantic order after another.

"The enemy isn't headed this way. There’s no need to panic." He had the lieutenant’s instant attention, and he didn't even need to raise his voice.

"We will take care of any matters concerning this base. Get your carrier moved out from in front of cargo plane one," the lieutenant snapped, shooting me an evil glare.

Zechs gave me a quick glance, a one-sided little smirk sneaking out from under the mask. Then he put his officer face back on and turned his attention back to the lieutenant. "I don't care if you're following Lt. Noin's orders. The enemy isn't coming, so don't move the Taurus suits."

The lieutenant threw his hands up in frustration. "Never mind! Let cargo plane two take off first!" he shouted at the waiting crews, then rounded on Zechs. "Lt. Zechs, I could get you court-martialed."

Where had I heard that before? I sniggered quietly as I imagined Khushrenada's reaction to any such attempt.

Zechs' retort was swift and scathing. "I am much more in control than you are right now. If one makes a decision with a cool head, he won't find himself regretting that decision later on." I thought the lieutenant would have a stroke on the spot.

A few minutes later the Alliance crews still managed to get a carrier-load of Taurus suits in the air despite our interference. There was a muted cheer from the Alliance personnel as they watched the transport take off. For a moment it looked as if the plane would make it--and then the form of Gundam 05 reared out of the forest. The carrier veered in a desperate attempt to get out of range as Gundam 05 leveled an enormous rifle, but it was no use. The Gundam fired the laser--*our* laser--and cut the carrier in half.

"Th--the Taurus suits," the Alliance lieutenant stammered. No doubt he was imagining his career going down in flames, right along with those suits.

The Gundam discarded the cannon like a piece of junk and left, heading casually away on foot. It knew we had nothing left that could chase it. Under any other circumstances, I would have felt vindicated. Not now.

Not when the two pilots of that carrier were dead, along with their crew. Not with any number of Aries and Leos destroyed, their pilots dead. And not when the bodies of nine cadets were buried in the rubble of their own dorm, killed without ever knowing the reason why.

Just this once, I wished I had been wrong.

* * *

There were no further attacks on Victoria after the Gundam 05 incident, and once I'd verified that we could indeed reconstruct the Tallgeese, Zechs took off with Lt. Noin for parts unknown. Ostensibly they were off to prep for Operation Daybreak, though I had a sneaking suspicion Zechs was also trying to play decoy just in case the Gundams were targeting his assault carrier in particular. Personally, I doubted that they were, but the Gundams were no longer my main concern. Rebuilding the Tallgeese was.

That metal monster soon became both an addiction and a personal cross to bear. Even in pieces, the Tallgeese had been unwieldy and hard to work with, and as a single unit the thing was simply massive. It towered over the Leos we were using around it, and topped even a few of the cranes in height. Add to that the fact that we'd only managed to scavenge up about two-thirds of the 'Geese's original specs and test data, and you ended up with a jigsaw puzzle in the form of a Mobile Suit. The sheer amount of profanity I exercised on that uncooperative monster broke all records.

What can I say? I love a challenge.

Still, there was a frenzied pace to our work. We were all under the gun to make this work--literally. The Gundams seemed to have an uncanny ability to know just which OZ targets to hit. If they somehow got wind of our project, we could kiss our collective asses goodbye. It certainly didn't help the tension level any that we knew we wouldn't even see the damn things coming if they *did* attack. Zechs checked in as time allowed, and it was probably a good thing Khushrenada kept him busy. The man was a nag.

"Otto. How are things going? Is everything on schedule?" He sounded tired. I was less than sympathetic.

"Just peachy. I love making twenty-year old motherboards work with modern processors." I waggled scorched fingers at him. "Thanks a bunch."

"Look on the bright side, Otto." It was hard to tell, but I think he was smiling. "At least it keeps you out of the bars."

"That's a bright side?" I snapped back. "Don't do me any favors."

"I try not to," he replied, propping a chin against one hand. "Exactly how far along are you?"

I tapped a finger against the mangled mess of blueprints on my desk, considering. "Well. . .the main reconstruction of the Tallgeese's bodywork and armor is almost complete. We're doing a little exploratory surgery at the moment, making sure everything's connected the right way. With any luck, we can start preliminary testing in a week."

"That soon?" He leaned back from the com, looking over at something I couldn't see. "Hmm. With all the Gundam activity lately, doing a test flight is going to be tricky. We may not have the time to do it there at Victoria."

"So we'll bring it to Sanc and test it there," I remarked, feigning unconcern. Zechs nodded.

"That sounds good. Things will be chaotic enough that we can bring in the Tallgeese without being noticed." He grabbed a pen and scribbled something down. Probably yet another one of his cryptic and mostly random notes to himself. Alliance cryptographers have been known to go insane from trying to decipher Zechs' bizarre scrawl.

I nodded, pretending to agree. Let Zechs go up in an untested Tallgeese? Like hell.

After that I pushed the reconstruction crews as fast as I dared. Coffee and cigarettes became a substitute for sleep. Huddled conferences around hand-drawn schematics were almost the only human contact I had for over a month, and by the time we were done it felt as if I hadn't seen the sun in years. But we had a functional suit in front of us.

Our problem? We didn't know what it could *do*.

Time was running out. Zechs was prepping for Operation Daybreak, along with the rest of OZ. I had no doubts that it would succeed; Khushrenada could plot rings around the heads of the Alliance. For the moment, though, every resource OZ had to offer was being quietly co-opted for the attack--including test pilots.

Fate, I decided, is not only a fickle bitch, but has a warped sense of humor to boot. Sure, I'd wanted to pilot a MS again. However, the prospect of going up in a mothballed, untried prototype MS of unknown capabilities was not one guaranteed to thrill me. But the Tallgeese had to be tested, proven battle-ready, and I was the only one available with both the necessary piloting and mechanical skills. Under normal circumstances this wouldn't even be a consideration. But then, things hadn't been normal for some time.

So, less than a week before Operation Daybreak, we did our test run.

* * *

The morning was clear and cold, a low haze of fog clinging to the grass of the airfield as we prepped. I flexed my hands experimentally, stiff leather creaking around my fingers; my old flight gloves had a torn buckle, and these were new.

I looked over at Bubba. "Status?"

"You're good to go, sir." He shouted an all-clear to some remaining techs. "Test burns this morning were all within range, but we're still getting those odd power spikes. Are you sure--" He hesitated, biting off the question I could see written all over his face.

The truth? I wasn't sure. But time was ticking away, and there was only one path left for us.

"Let's do this." Grabbing the lift line, I glanced back over my shoulder. "You're going to be my eyes and ears on this run, Mr. Harcourt. Don't take your eyes off that data. Got it?"

"Yes, sir!"

The lift line whirred to a stop, and I kicked loose from the stirrup. Ducking under the open cockpit shield, I settled behind the controls and started my checks. The main computer was already online; taking it off standby, I watched the overlapping blast doors slide shut, sealing away the light. The muted rumble of the hydraulics vibrated through my hands via the unyielding control grips.

I opened a channel to the observation team. "Tallgeese to Control. Test flight one-niner-zero, commencing at 0600."

_"Roger, Tallgeese. You are clear to proceed."  
_  
"Let's do this by the numbers. Starting basic combat maneuvering pattern alpha." I ran through the basic maneuvers methodically, warming up the joints and getting a feel for how the gyros compensated for movement. Easy stuff, but necessary. Even the rawest recruit knows that every MS handles differently, and the 'Geese was no different. A bit touchier about the controls, maybe, but we'd done the basic patterns several times during the rebuilding process and it responded readily, pivoting and slashing through beam saber patterns. Time to kick it up a notch.

"Control to Tallgeese. Going to aerial maneuvering pattern alpha." I throttled up the engines, listening to the building whine as they approached ignition. The secondary thrusters kicked in first, sending up plumes of dust as they fought against gravity's pull.

_"Roger, Tallgeese. The field is clear."  
_  
Mentally crossing my fingers, I ignited the primary thrusters-

-and the world disappeared.

* * *

I found out later that the Tallgeese had accelerated like a bullet shot out of a gun, going from a measly 10 kph to something close to Mach 1 in seconds. Even strapped in and braced against the acceleration, I was thrown back against the seat so hard and fast that I don't even remember blacking out. I was out for just a few seconds, but that was more than long enough for everything to go fubar in a big hurry.

The next thing I remembered was dragging my way awake with a killer headache, supremely irritated at whoever was screaming in my ear.

_"--up! Lieutenant, pull up!"  
_  
Military training is a wonderful thing. My hands were still on the controls and I obeyed automatically, wheezing against the crushing weight on my chest. Tallgeese responded instantly, throwing me sideways and back as it climbed into an impossible vertical ascent. Blackness narrowed my vision as I huffed for air and fought for control.

"_Verficktes, scheiss teil_!" I gasped as a harness buckle snapped apart, over-stressed metal twanging in protest as the other points took the strain. Bubba continued to shout, his voice fading in and out with the white noise of my earpiece. I craned my head, trying to get my bearings. Clouds and sky spiraled dizzyingly by on my screens in blurred smears of color, and the digital horizon was doing flip-flops. No help there. Trying to throttle back and level out produced no results. The 'Geese had the bit between her teeth, and responded with violent swerves that knocked me around the cockpit like a rag doll.

I'd seen the numbers on the Gundams' power curve--even crunched a few calculations on probable thrust-to-weight of my own. But numbers hadn't prepared me for *this*. Every small adjustment I made to compensate turned into insane dives as the Tallgeese threw those massive main engines behind every maneuver. Short of shutting down the main thrusters completely, I'd throttled back as much as I'd dared and still had both hands locked in a deathgrip over the controls as the we jinked madly across the sky.

With a sudden lurch, the 'Geese spiraled sideways at an angle I'd thought impossible to achieve in anything but a vacuum. Another harness buckle broke with a twang, and I slammed sideways into the blunted edge of the nav console. I felt something give inside my chest. For the first few seconds, it didn't hurt--and then torn nerve endings overrode the adrenaline and turned breathing into hellish agony.

I hawked and spat a gob of blood, wheezing. "-_verdammte scheisse! Oh shit, tut das weh_!" Talking hurt, but so did breathing, and there wasn't much I could do about that. I sucked in more air and squinted at my readouts. The horizon seemed to be staying level for the moment, and I seized my chance.

"Try THIS on for size, you insane piece of scrap!" I killed the main thrusters with a snarl, and let the Tallgeese fall.

_"Tallgeese, report! Otto--what are you doing!?!" _The sheer panic in the usually unflappable Bubba's voice made me laugh, hacking deep hysterical coughs full of the taste of my own blood. He must have thought I'd gone mad. Burst a blood vessel, maybe, and lost it in a rush of adrenaline. Grinning ferally, I jammed the directional thrusters full back, correcting for the spin.

Watching the ground rush toward me on the screens, I fought every instinct that told me to veer up out of this lethal dive. My hands shook as I tweaked the directionals, coaxing the 'Geese's headlong dive into a horizontal glide. "C'mon, c'mon, you fucking piece of shit," I crooned. "Work with me..." Once again the Tallgeese responded instantly, but this time without any of the lethal power of the main engines. I was still moving way too fucking fast, so close to the ground that I could see the scrub flashing by--but the 'Geese was nearly under control. "_Ja, na also. . .es geht doch. ._ ."

It was easier to think now that I wasn't bouncing around like a rubber ball. I was no instinctive pilot like Marquise, which was a major liability in combat. But given a moment to think, I could usually figure out the solutions that my instincts couldn't give me. Keeping carefully away from the main throttle, I flipped open the panel protecting zero-G controls and activated the secondary thruster array. The tiny jets, meant to aid maneuvers in the vacuum of space, were just powerful enough to give me some kind of crude directional capability. It wasn't a perfect solution, but hopefully enough to get me and the 'Geese back down to the airfield in one piece.

Even without the main engines, the Tallgeese's speed was incredible. Whoever designed this suit must have been insane. There had been no consideration given to the poor schmuck of a pilot. I shook my head, and nearly lost my lunch as the world lurched sickeningly. Bad idea.

I triggered the jets. The cockpit shuddered, lurching occasionally as I coaxed the Tallgeese around with eggshell caution, my hands shaking. The jets did their job, giving little short bursts that nudged the MS into a decent altitude and making crude corrections whenever it tried to tumble into another dive. We were lurching around like a drunken bumblebee, dipping and swerving as we made our unsteady way back to the airfield, but the Tallgeese was under control. . .so far.

The Tallgeese didn't arrive back at the airfield at anywhere near the speed it had left, but it was still moving at least ten times faster than the average Aries approach. I had cut off everything but minimal thrust several miles out in attempt to dump some of my speed, but it soon become perfectly clear that the 'Geese was still moving too fast to even attempt a standard two-point landing. We'd end up tumbling head-over-heels, and even an MS as armored as this one wouldn't survive a crash like that intact.

I gritted my teeth and muttered, "C'mon, genius. . .think!" Emergency maneuvers, standard landing maneuvers. . .hell, I wasn't sure I'd be able to hold on long enough to make a second approach. Only one option seemed to even be a possibility. According to the books, it was a perfectly legitimate emergency landing. In reality, it was a maneuver that only an insane or desperate pilot would try. As I keyed in the landing coordinates and shut off all unnecessary fuel feedlines, I wondered which category I fell into.

"I can *not* believe I'm doing this!" I growled. . .then hit the lateral thrusters and flipped the Tallgeese over, sending it diving headfirst towards the airfield.

Unlike an Aries, the Tallgeese didn't have any wing extensions or flaps to get in the way, thankfully--this landing was going to be hairy enough as it was. I checked the shield, making sure it was locked into place on the left gauntlet. Collision alarms screamed as the ground scrolled past my screens in a greenish-brownish blur, and I fired the thrusters one last time, pulling up hard. Obediently, the 'Geese leveled out and rolled. . .and then we hit the ground.

My crash was quite spectacular, if I do say so myself. Tallgeese skidded across half the airfield on one shoulder and shield, tearing up the sod into a huge dustcloud as it fishtailed. I'm pretty sure we killed off quite a few trees in the process, but I was a bit too busy to notice at the time. My harness had already been compromised, and the crash flung me forward, ripping the rest free. I threw my arms up in a vain attempt to protect my head as the cockpit rattled and bounced around. . .then the MS came to an abrupt stop with one final shuddering crash and sent me hurtling into the forward screen.

I don't remember much after that.

* * *

According to the medical staff, I was, quote- 'One lucky sonuvabitch' -unquote. I didn't necessarily agree, but there's no point in arguing when the other side has needles and isn't afraid to use them.

After that summary verdict and a few mandatory pokes and prods, the doctors hustled off, leaving me to blink blearily at the ceiling. It took me a few minutes to figure out that someone was still in the room; Sikes apparently had been hovering around more or less the entire time I was out. I flopped my head over to the side, and tried to think of something witty to say. Nothing came to mind.

Sikes grinned. "You should see yourself, sir. I didn't know it was possible for skin to be that many colors at once." I rolled my eyes in response. If anything, his grin got wider. "Don't worry--the bandages set it off nicely."

I waved that aside as unimportant and croaked, "The Tallgeese?"

"Still intact, sir," he replied promptly. "The shield took the brunt of the crash, just like you planned. Sgt. Harcourt is working on the realignment of the shoulder joint, and we'll have to replace a few of the armor plates, but that was it. I'm amazed you managed to pull it off."

"Me too," I replied dryly. Damn but my head hurt. And my chest. And my--never mind. Clearing my throat, I tried to be authoritative in spite of the fact that I sounded like an asthmatic frog. "First things first. Get a reinforced harness in that cockpit. Requisition some gundanium if you have to, but get it done. We'll never be able to use that suit if we can't keep the pilot from becoming a damned ping-pong ball."

"Yes, sir."

"Second--we're going to have to tweak the main thrusters again. We'll do it en-route. Zechs should be able to handle the power of the Tallgeese better than I did, but we need to do something about those damned power surges." I wiggled my toes, unaccountably pleased by their immediate response. At least something still worked.

"Got it, sir."

"And third, find me a uniform. I want the Tallgeese loaded up and ready to go by--what day is anyway?"

"Tuesday, about 1630," Sikes replied automatically, checking his watch, then did a double take. "Sir?"

"Okay, I want the carrier loaded up and cleared to leave by 2000 hours. Help me up." Encouraged by my previous success at toe-wiggling, I grabbed a bedrail and tried to prop myself up on one elbow--then fell backwards as all the dull aches I'd been feeling flared into red hot spikes of pain. I lay there for a minute, trying to get my breathing under control. "Shit. Okay. . . that hurt."

"It should, Lieutenant. You managed to bang yourself up pretty good. In fact, you're scheduled to go into surgery soon." Sikes didn't quite hover, but he came damn close to it.

I grimaced. "It'll have to wait. Lt. Marquise needs the Tallgeese ASAP, and they're not going to push back Operation Daybreak just because I'm under the weather." Ripping the surgical tape away with a wince, I pulled the I.V. out of the back of my hand and held out to the other to Sikes. "C'mon. Help me out here."

"Sir, I. . ."

"Do I have to make it an order?" I gave him a level look.

With a gusty sigh, he caved. "No, sir."

* * *

Thankfully, it was a short hop from Victoria base to the Sanc staging area. Most of the trip was a blur; I wasn't in any shape to appreciate scenery between the painkillers and making sure the necessary repairs to the Tallgeese were handled. I spent most of the time squinting over circuit boards and simulation results, doing my best to avoid thinking about Zechs. Walker had been right; the Tallgeese was the most powerful suit I'd ever seen. It was also the most lethal. Despite my best efforts, I couldn't help but worry; Zechs’ instincts for self-preservation weren't all that great even at the best of times. By the time we arrived, though, the 'Geese was spit-shined and polished, all ready to go. I'd done my part. The rest would be up to him.

I made it out to meet him on my own two feet. . .barely. Okay, two feet and Sikes's shoulder if you want to get picky. I could feel the sweat breaking out on my forehead as I tried not to give away how much of a mess I really was, and failed miserably.

"Otto! I'm glad to see you!" Zechs called out cheerfully as he came out to meet us--and then stopped as he realized something was wrong. Despite my best efforts the bruises and bandages were pretty obvious, and I caught a slightly appalled look on Lt. Noin's face. Hell. I knew that I looked like shit, but it's always nice to have a second opinion.

I offered up a shaky salute with one arm and gritted teeth. "Reporting for duty. . ."

"You need to rest, sir!" Did I mention Sikes's mother hen tendencies? I promised myself I would do something about that--just as soon as I felt up to it.

"What's the matter?" Zechs asked. I had to fight off the urge to crack a smart remark. _Well sir, this little girl and her dog dropped a house on me. . . .  
_  
Sikes decided he'd pick up the conversational slack, damn him. "Lt. Otto shouldn't even be standing! His ribs are broken and he has internal injuries!"

"He doesn't need to know that!" I hissed angrily at him. Before Sikes could open up his big mouth again, I turned to Marquise. "Lt. Zechs, This Tallgeese you've been waiting for is one vicious suit." I offered him a smirk and waved my hand towards the door. "Care to see for yourself?"

Zechs gave me one of his patented inscrutable stares; then strode towards the shuttle bay, Lt. Noin in tow. Bringing up the rear with Sikes, I watched as Zechs stopped dead in the middle of the bay, craning his neck as he looked up. . .and up, and up. "So this is TallGeese. . ."

"It hardly looks like a model abandoned in the middle of its development over twenty years ago," Noin said in awe.

"No. The revolution speed applied by the verniers allows it to reach more than three times that of the Aries." I hesitated, then grudgingly admitted, "--but we were unable to determine its maximum speed. I passed out during the trials."

"You were the test pilot?" Noin remarked, looking me over dubiously. OZ pilots--they're all the same. I would have bitten her head off, but I was having a hard enough time staying upright. Getting into a fight with the high-and-mighty Lt. Noin was a bit beyond my abilities at the moment.

So I ignored her, directing my comments to Marquise. "The Tallgeese can't be controlled by just anybody. You're probably the only one who can, Lieutenant."

He looked at me, then back up at the MS that towered over us. For the first time, he looked uncertain. "Aren't you overrating my skills?"

_Like I overrated mine, you mean?_ Shoving that cynical little thought back down, I shook my head. "No, sir. I trust your abilities."

"All right, then--I'll use it immediately. And I'm sorry for all the trouble it caused you, Otto." He gave me another assessing look, and turned to Sikes. "Take him to the medical facilities."

"Yes, sir," Sikes replied, relieved, and immediately waved over the medics that had been waiting to pounce. Apparently it was payback time, because they had me on a stretcher and a needle stuck in my am before my woozy brain could even figure out what was up.

I glared at Sikes as they started to wheel me out. "Traitor."

The man looked vaguely apologetic, in that 'it's-for-your-own-good-sir' kind of way, but continued to aid and abet the enemy. Then the medics apparently decided that I deserved the really good drugs--there was another jab at the bend of my elbow. Sikes' sheepish face began to blur as they did their work, then faded away for good as I went under for the third time.

* * *

I woke up some time later. For a while, I just stared at the ceiling, thinking. The medics here in Sanc had the ones at Victoria base beat all hollow, I had to admit. Despite the fact that I'd probably just been in surgery, I didn't feel a thing. In fact, it felt like my whole body had been numbed and then packed in cotton. It was the strangest feeling: to know that things should be hurting, but be so disconnected from it that I didn't even care. Under the vague impression that it was somehow important, I tried wiggling my toes. I had no idea whether or not I succeeded.

Oddly enough, I was wide awake and aware. There was none of the drowsiness I usually associated with pain meds. Instead, my brain was humming merrily along, ticking along convoluted paths of thought and coming to strange conclusions. I wondered where everyone was. _Tallgeese? With Zechs--no. Zechs and Noin._ The thought irritated me.

_Zechs and Noin and Sanc._ The names made a nice rhythm. _Sanc? Zechs and Tallgeese. Geese and Tallzechs._ Thinking of the Tallgeese brought up a vague memory of pain. I rolled my eyes over, and found the bed next to mine full--but with someone else, not Zechs. Unaccountably relieved, I lazily slid my gaze back up to the ceiling.

_Zechs and Tallgeese. Sanc. Invasion. _I knew Zechs would win. He was the best. That's why I gave him the Tallgeese, after all. A new sound outside caught my interest--the drumming of footsteps rushing past the door to the ward. I idly counted how many: one, two, four. . . . What was I counting again?

There were people hissing at each other outside. Saying something about _"--irregular heartbeat and respiratory failure, get a full team out there now to Lt. Zechs move damn it move!" _The words swam around, moving like slow currents through the murky jungle sludge in my brain. Lieutenant. Zechs. Move.

I moved.

Walking was tricky, I discovered, when you couldn't feel your toes. Or your feet. But at least now I could see them wiggling; my toes hadn't gone AWOL after all. They just needed more encouragement. One foot. . .down. Two feet. . .down. Three feet. . .I stumbled. That's right. I didn't have a third foot.

I looked around for clothes. Wouldn't do to meet one's CO in an assless dress. I found a uniform, though the buttons seemed unusually complicated. Probably wasn't mine. I've never had problems with mine. But pants were pants were pants. No time to be picky.

Luck was with me. No nurses yet to intercept my grand escape. I felt vaguely cheated as I stumbled out the back way, boots in hand. I know they were busy, but they could have at least *tried* to make it difficult for me. Sneaking around in sock feet brought memories of sneaking downstairs on Christmas, small feet on creaky oak stars, smelling coffee and pine and eager for presents.

Outside, the smell of pine was stronger. I took it as a sign I was on the right track, and shoved feet--my feet, not someone else's--into the boots. The boots were scuffed. Zechs wouldn't like that. Preppy bastard. Where was I going again?

Zechs. Right. Zechs. Where was Zechs, anyway? _In Sanc,_ my brain replied. Where was I? _In Sanc,_ my brain said again. I told my brain to fuck off if it wasn't going to be helpful.

_Follow the people,_ my brain offered. That made sense. Zechs didn't go anywhere without an entourage, after all. _Without me._

I followed the people. They seemed to change direction a lot, and I walked in circles for a while, getting frustrated. Everyone else seemed to know where they were going; why didn't I? Then I saw a familiar face as Walker strolled past, hands in pockets. Good old Walker. He'd know where Zechs was. He *always* knew where Zechs was.

I hurried to catch up, grinning. "I missed you, kid," I told him. He gave me a weird look.

Right. Mustn't ruffle officerly dignity. Not in front of Zechs. I shut up and wandered in Walker's wake. Damn but the kid moved fast. I frowned down at my uncooperative feet as they stumbled along, then stopped short as we hit a tent. Walker strolled inside without waiting for an invitation; outside, I grabbed a post to keep the ground from swaying and peeked.

Lt. Zechs. With bandages. And an oxygen mask over his face.

Zechs was hurt?

I froze. This was a Zechs I didn't know. My Zechs was arrogant, dignified--invincible. My brain stuttered as it tried to reconcile the two Zechs's. Zechses? Zechsi? Hell, I couldn't even tell if he was conscious. Something in me snarled in anger. It knew what was to blame.

Hurt-Zechs pulled the mask away from his face, grimacing a little. Waving the doctor away, he started rambling to someone. . .to Noin. Of course. "I really underestimated the TallGeese; it completely ignores the pilot's safety."

_The Tallgeese.  
_  
"It takes into consideration all types of battle patterns and makes it possible for the one suit to achieve victory on its own. That's what I think, at least." He gave a self-deprecating little grimace. "But I've become such a coward. The more I tried to push the suit's limits, the more I started doubting my own abilities." He continued on, babbling about fear and battles and such, and any lingering doubts I had vanished. This was the real Zechs. No one else could love the sound of their own voice quite like he did.

"--Rather than a suit for battle, it's a suit for dueling. It takes a brave pilot to bring out its true potential."

"A brave pilot?" Ever faithful Noin-parrot, right on cue. I wondered what my cue was. I had the nagging feeling I'd missed it.

"Brave enough to risk death for victory." His mouth twisted. "And apparently I still have a long way to go to conquer my own fears." That sounded like a cue. But whose?

"--anyway, I've got to get back to the Sanc Kingdom!" Even though it wasn't the cue I'd been waiting for, something about those words snapped me to attention. After over a year under his command, I had seen Zechs in almost every possible situation. I had seen him angry, giddy, tired, even drunk. . .had listened to him ramble, rant and philosophize. But I had never heard him sound so. . .desperate.

My brain grabbed the statement, turning it over and over. It offered up a conclusion. _Sanc is important. _

But--Zechs was injured. Tallgeese had scrambled him sunny side up. He wasn't going anywhere.

_Sanc is important,_ my brain insisted.

I tried to dismiss my growing sense of unease. Even if Zechs was desperate enough to try, Noin wouldn't let him leave. She was yelling at him, after all. She knew it was a stupid idea.

My brain still wasn't having any. _Sanc is important._ Then it added the coup de gráce. _Zechs will die for Sanc._

I hate it when my brain is right.

Noin-parrot was still busy arguing with Zechs. I could have told her it was no use. She was up against the fastest mouth in the west. "Fine, but not on the Tallgeese."

"I told you, I think the Gundams are based off of the Tallgeese's design. That's why it's crucial for me to pilot the Tallgeese; I need it to defeat the Gundams!"

_Sanc is important.  
_  
_Zechs will pilot the Tallgeese, and. . .  
_  
I'd told Zechs to beat the Gundams. I never realized he'd take it this far.

I pushed away from the tent, one arm wrapped around my ribs. Whatever they'd given me earlier was starting to wear off, and I could feel the edges of pain.

"The Tallgeese. . .is for suicide missions." _Zechs will die for Sanc._ I tested the words out loud, weighing their importance. "The Gundams are so effective because. . ." _I told Zechs to beat the Gundams--for Walker. No, for me._ ". . .they're always searching for a place to die." That's what Zechs said. Something about that seemed slightly off, but I couldn't figure out what.

_My fault--  
_  
In a weird little jump of time, I found myself standing in front of the Tallgeese; apparently the rest of me had come to a decision without informing my brain. I looked up at it, eyes automatically picking out the marks of laser fire.

"I have a bone to pick with you," I told it. "I'm a mechanic, not a mortician. I don't work on suits that try to kill their pilots."

The Tallgeese seemed unimpressed by my accusation. I leaned against one giant metal foot and looked up, watching patterned shadows move across the helmeted headpiece. The clammy chill of the metal was pleasant against my back, and steadied me a bit.

_\--my responsibility.  
_  
"I suppose you're right." I closed my eyes, leaning my head back against the armor plate for a minute. "It's not your fault we can't measure up to your standards." It takes a brave pilot. . .

Walker had been that brave. Hell, he'd given his life for OZ.

Could I do any less for Zechs?

Time to find out. I pushed away from my resting spot and grabbed for the lift-line. A sharp spike of pain along my ribs made me gasp; the drugs were definitely wearing off. I ground my back teeth and ignored it. It took three tries to fit my foot into the stirrup, and the surrounding forest spun dizzyingly by as the lift-line hauled me upwards with a barely audible hum. I doubted the guards would hear, but it wouldn't matter if they did. I'd be inside the Tallgeese before they could stop me.

No guards came. Somebody was going to be in trouble after this little escapade, that's for sure. . .maybe even me. Par for the course, really. I keyed open the hatch with icy fingers and stepped off the line. For a moment, I just stood there on the platform, feeling the wind dry the sweat on my face, listening to the distant noises of the camp. My doubts faded away. This felt. . .like the right thing to do.

_Morituri te. . . _I saluted Zechs' tent somberly, parade correct, shoulders straight. Then turned away.

I clambered clumsily inside, barking a shin against the edge of the hatch and falling into the seat. A lingering scent hung in the cockpit, the sharp tang of sweat and fear added to Tallgeese's own slightly musty metal smell. I strapped in with cold and shaking hands, tightening the buckles until they hurt. Stabbing a finger at the switch, I watched the overlapping layers of armor slide shut, sealing me inside the Tallgeese one more time.

The dark confines of the cockpit seemed to close in on me, screens blank and ominous. My mouth was dry as I began the startup sequence, trying not to think as my hands fell into a familiar unthinking rhythm. Main computer, backup computer, sensor arrays, vernier warmups. . . The boards lit up in a cascade of red-yellow-green lights. Everything ready. Everything go.

Tallgeese thrummed under my hands, and the viewscreens came up, relaying light and sound into the darkness. I toggled over to the headcams. The building whine of the engines must have finally alerted the sentries; the nearest tents looked like overturned anthills, soldiers running frantically towards the Tallgeese. "Too little, too late," I muttered, amused. . .then ignited the thrusters and threw us into the sky.

This time I knew what to expect--or so I thought. We gained altitude at an incredible speed, the cockpit rattling as as those massive engines piled on the thrust. I didn't lose consciousness, but I almost wished I had. Sweat stung my eyes as I gasped for air, my ribs creaking and popping with each breath. I pried one hand off of the controls long enough to bring up tactical and lock in the coordinates for the Alliance headquarters. The cold knot in my gut said that we had no time for fancy maneuvers--there was no way I'd last through a dogfight. We'd just have to bull our way through. Teeth clenched, I pushed the throttle forward, increasing speed. We were going straight in, and heaven help anyone who was in our way.

The com buzzed insistently, barely heard over the roaring in my ears. I ignored it, focusing grimly on the forward screens; I didn't feel like getting yelled at just now. Then the com bleeped the two-tone note of a command override, opening a channel, and suddenly I was looking at Zechs' angry face.

_"What are you doing?! Otto--return immediately!"  
_  
Yup, he was pissed. Good. The blame would be on my shoulders, where it belonged. I tried to muster up my usual smirk. "Don't worry--with the Tallgeese, I'll be able to take over the Sanc Kingdom headquarters." Another red stab of pain ripped across ribs; I hissed between my teeth, my smirk turning into more of a grimace. "I should know, sir; I know what the Tallgeese can do!"

If anything, Zechs seemed to get angrier, leaning closer to the screen.

_"Stop it! You'll die!"  
_  
Hearing that desperate note in his voice again, I tried to reassure him. "Ze--" I cut myself off, seeing other officers in the background. "Lieutenant--it's my honor to sacrifice my life for you. This is your dream. . ." The pounding in my temples was making it hard to think. The screen was fading in and out. . .interference, maybe. I shook my head, focusing in on Zechs' face desperately, trying to make him understand. "I'm doing this for you, Lt. Zechs. Not for OZ!"

_"Otto..."  
_  
Didn't he realize I didn't have time to argue? I'd already committed myself; there was no turning back now. _Don't worry, Zechs. This won't be for nothing._ "I'll give you your victory, even at the cost of my life!" I told him, trying to sound confident. Never let them see you sweat.

_"Otto! You're not making sense!"  
_  
"Damn it--" I slammed a fist down on the disconnect. If Zechs wanted to argue, he could damn well do it at my court-martial. Assuming I got one. I hung my head, squeezing my eyes shut as precious minutes ticked by. He of all people should have understood. The fact that he didn't made me angry.

Hunched over the controls, I almost missed the first warnings from the tactical net. Aries, multiple craft, directly in my path; my eyes were blurring enough that I couldn't pick out insignia. At that moment I no longer cared who they belonged to--they were in my way.

I was gracious; I gave them a few seconds warning. ". . ._verdammte arschloecher_. . .don't get in my way, dammit! I don't know how long I can hold out-" My voice cracked embarrassingly on a cough. Bright spatters of blood flecked my hands and the forward screen as I hacked, a slow trickle sliding down my chin. _\--don't have time to waste with you!_ I fired a few wild shots from the 'Geese's dobergun, trying to get them to scatter. Then we were flashing by, cutting through them like a falcon through pigeons. A few of the Aries tried to give chase, but there was no contest, and for just a moment I was suddenly, absurdly proud of this vicious beast I had helped resurrect.

More alarms shrilled--we were being targeted, this time from the ground. Sanc was rolling in, looming larger on the screens by the second. My hands were numb, clenched white over the controls. Just. . .a little. . .longer. . . I couldn't seem to catch my breath. Tactical had found the Alliance base and locked on. This was no game of chicken, and they knew it. Explosion after explosion whited out the screens as the Alliance tore open the sky with missiles, laser fire, chucking everything they had at us. I returned fire blindly--at this range, I couldn't help but hit something.

Fuses sparked as sensors fried and went offline, smoke hazing the air. I couldn't see anymore, but I could feel it: the first volley missed completely, the second rattling armor plating as they got the 'Geese's range and pounded away. Another direct hit sent me reeling against the harness. Against the blood pounding in my ears, my own raggedy breaths suddenly seemed eerily loud, the controls bucking against my hands as the 'Geese took hit after hit.

But the armor held. Our course was set. And even blind as I was, nothing they did could even slow us down. I sucked in a breath, my chest a continuous screaming ache. Lips peeling back against teeth in a vicious, victorious grin, I let out a defiant yell as I slammed the throttle past redline.

"Zechs! Banzai!!"

_It takes a brave man--_

\--and then the Tallgeese hit with the screaming of torn metal and and exploding fire.


End file.
